Colton mansion.

CHAPTER XXI

It was early in the evening, but the big house was lighted as if for a
reception; lights in the rooms above, lights in the library and hall
and drawing-room. Doctor Quimby's horse and buggy stood by one of
the hitching posts and the Colton motor car was drawn up by the main
entrance. From the open windows of the servants' quarters came the
sounds of excited voices. I hastened to the front door. Before I could
push the button of the electric bell the door was opened. Johnson, the
butler, peered out at me. Most of his dignity was gone.

"Is it you, Mr. Paine?" he asked, anxiously. "Come in, sir, please. Miss
Mabel has been asking for you not a minute ago, sir."

I entered the hall. "What is it, Johnson?" I asked, quickly. "How is Mr.
Colton?"

The butler looked behind him before replying. He shook his head
dubiously.

"He's awful ill, sir," he whispered. "The doctor's been with him for an
hour; 'e's unconscious and Mrs. Colton is takin' on something terrible.
It's awful, sir, ain't it!"

His nervousness was sufficient indication of the general demoralization
of the household. And from one of the rooms above came the sobs of a
hysterical woman.

"Brace up, man," I whispered in reply. "This is no time for you to go to
pieces. Where is Miss Colton?"

"She's with her father, sir. Step into the library and I'll call her."

He was not obliged to call her, for, at that moment, I heard her voice
speaking from the head of the stairs.

"Who is it, Johnson?" she asked, in a low tone.

"It's Mr. Paine, Miss Mabel."

I heard a little exclamation, of relief it seemed to me. Then she
appeared, descending the staircase. Her face was, as Lute had said,
pale, but her manner was calm, much calmer than the butler's.

She came to me and extended her hand. "Thank you for coming," she said.
"I was sure you would."

"How is your father, Miss Colton?" I asked.

"He is no worse. Come into the library, please. Johnson, if Mother or
the doctor need me, I shall be in the library. Come, Mr. Paine."

We entered the library together. The room in which I had had my two
memorable encounters with "Big Jim" Colton was without its dominant
figure now. His big armchair was drawn up beside the table and the
papers and writing materials were in the place where I had seen them. A
half-burned cigar lay in the ash tray. But the strong fingers which
had placed it there were weak enough now and the masterful